


Boredom

by mishkinat



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishkinat/pseuds/mishkinat
Summary: Sherlock is bored. At least John Watson has the right words for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Do you like soppy stories with happy endings? You might like this then!   
> I did it short because I couldn't sleep and wanted to update so here you go :)

"No, not that one. The other one."

"What?"

"Question! The other question." Sherlock groaned, exasperated. He lay on the sofa with a cushion pressed into his face to block out anything irritating which, to him, was everything. He twitched his toes, then his fingers. The familiar rise and twist of his stomach came, followed by the crawling uncomfortable feeling over his skin. Bored. Dangerously so. His mind, the only part of him that he felt important felt numb. He wasn't himself and he wanted to crawl out of his head.

"Sherlock..."

"No, John, I haven't taken any bloody drugs." He sat up abruptly and hurled the cushion across the room. He ruffled his hair. Stamped his feet. Let out a deep, overly-dramatic groan.

"Well, good. You can't give up now, and I'm saying this not just as your friend, but as a doctor, that I'm very proud-"

"I don't  _care_ , John." Sherlock snapped and marched off into his bedroom, slamming the door. John sighed. For the past week Sherlock had been like this- uncomfortable, on edge and ready to snap, rather like an unpredictable two-year-old. It had been a month since Sherlock's brief exile and the supposed return of Moriarty, and yet nobody was any clearer on what it all meant. This was dangerous as Sherlock was now more prone than ever to turn back to his drug habit.  He picked up his phone from the table and texted Mycroft.

_I know you don't text but I think Sherlock is in trouble. -JW_

John got up and tapped on Sherlock's door. A mumble replied, warning him not to enter.

_Check his room. -MH_

_I would. It's locked. With him in it. -JW_

"Sherlock, I really do think I should come in. We could play a game...Cluedo? Chess?" John almost pleaded.

No reply.

John's own heart beat fast in his chest. Either Sherlock was being cruel and intentionally scaring John or he had relapsed. John did not like the risk. 

"Sherlock, bloody hell. Open the damn door or I'll kick it down myself."

_Should I come over? -MH_

No reply. John thumped the door with his fist and bit his lip in frustration. He paused, with an idea.

_No. I have to do this. -JW_

"If you don't I will call Mycroft and get him to come over."

"No, no! I'm sorry." John could hear Sherlock spring up and fumble with the lock until it clicked open. Sherlock looked pale, his eyes dim and yet John knew that his friend had not taken drugs. He was exhausted with apathy and boredom. John walked in and sat beside Sherlock on the bed.

"You know, Sherlock, I know you're human." 

"Of course." He rolled his eyes.

"No, really." John had to calm his anger. "I know what it's like to be bored. I know, really. I get it. If you told someone what you hated most was being bored they'd look at you funny and say, 'Well there's worse things than that.' Yeah, they are right. But it is an itch. A dry uncomfortable itch that you can't scratch or shake off. Your mind goes blank and you feel like ramming your head into the wall."

"How do you know that?" Sherlock asked, more shocked than insulting.

"Ordinary people get bored too. Plus, why do you think I became a soldier?" John grinned. "With a mind like yours, boredom must be hellish. I wish I could help you, really. It's not easy being Sherlock Holmes. But it's not easy being me, either, you know. I have to watch you nearly kill yourself with drugs and boredom. I don't think you understand how important you are to me, or how important this whole thing is. I'm about to be a father, Sherlock. But nothing, nothing at all, will ever stop me from missing this. I know this sounds terrible, but I'm scared that I will be bored, doing the whole 'ordinary life.' So, you're not alone." 

Sherlock took a deep breath and sighed lightly. He fell back on his bed and closed his eyes, thinking for a moment. He smiled. The weight on his chest had been lifted, even though not completely, but considerably nonetheless. John Watson.  

"You know, John. I find that you know what to say quite often."

"Does it work?"

"Oh yeah." Sherlock grinned. "I feel a bit better now. There is still nothing to do but I feel a bit more...optimistic."

"Well, that's good. Baby steps."

"Oh, actually." Sherlock paused at the doorway. "You can help me with a case."

"I thought you didn't have one." John looked baffled.

"Oh, I do. The case of the missing rent money."

"You do realise I don't live here anymore?" Now it was Sherlock's turn. They stared at each other for a moment and laughed. Sherlock smiled at the thought that Baker Street was immortal.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) Please leave a comment!


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